


Stanford

by galaxystiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Drunk Dean, Friendship/Love, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4136511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxystiel/pseuds/galaxystiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the huge fight where Sam leaves for Stanford, Dean goes out to get wasted, and meets a friendly but mysterious stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stanford

Sam had gone. He’d actually gone.

That fight had been one of the worst things that Dean had ever witnessed, and after training to hunt from a young age, Dean had seen a lot of bad things. He’d seen Sam almost get killed by a Shtriga because Dean had fucked up and left him. He’d seen werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, skinwalkers, wendigoes… supernatural creatures that most adults hadn’t even heard of. He’d seen them all.

Nothing he’d seen compared to this. The swirling pit in his stomach that made him want to vomit. Sam had packed his stuff and left for college. The things he’d said were cold, callous… he’d blamed them for everything. For never getting a chance to be normal.

It wasn’t like he’d asked for this life either. Dean was doing what he could to find the son of a bitch that killed their mom. He was just killing everything in his path between now and then. He would have loved a normal childhood. Would have loved to stay at the boys home, gone into boxing, hell, maybe become a mechanic in his later years. He could have done it, too. Could have had whatever life he wanted. But he hadn’t wanted to leave Sammy.

And now Sam had left him.

They’d always fought, but he’d never expected their dad to kick Sam out. Dean just stood there, refusing to take sides. He wanted the best for his brother, but he was a good son. Sam always accused him of doing everything John wanted him to, but that wasn’t that half of it. How could he explain that he was being everything he thought his mom would want him to be? That all he could think about was making her proud? And that looking after his little brother was priority?

Not that it made a difference, because it turned out that Sam had never been grateful. His anger had turned on Dean and some of the things he’d said cut deep. Hurt more than anything Dean had experienced since the fire. Since his dad had raced out of the house alone and took Sam from his arms.

Dean refused to dwell on the words that Sam had said to him not two hours ago. John had gone on a hunt as if nothing had happened, but Dean didn’t have it in him. He walked into the nearest bar, dropping into a stool and slamming a twenty down on the counter. All he cared about now was forgetting everything that had happened that day, even if it was just for a short time.

The shots came quickly, as if the bartender could sense what kind of day Dean had had. If he’d cared, Dean would have been grateful. Every so often he could feel disapproving stares on him, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to get wasted.

“S’not like I ever asked to look after him, y’know?” He slurred, propping himself up on his elbow as he signalled for another shot. “He’s my little brother… ‘s what I’m s’posed to do. But then he goes off to college and he shays,” he paused to hiccup loudly. “He shays that all of this is my fault. That I shcrewed up his life.”

Dean’s face screwed up and he reached for the shots, only to find that there wasn’t any there. He frowned and looked around accusingly, as if someone had stolen them from under his nose.

“I’m gonna do you a favour and I’m cutting you off,” the bartender told him firmly. “Go home and sleep it off. It’ll all seem better in the morning.”

“Dude, what the hell? I’m not even…” Dean stood up and swayed, scrabbling for a grasp on the bar with his fingertips, trying to steady himself. Frowning, he leaned forward. “I’m not even drunk. Give me the fuckin’ bottle, ‘m gonna sherve myshelf.”

The bartender watched him try and grab a bottle, but miss completely. Dean stumbled and tripped over his stool, sprawling on the floor with a groan of pain. Two men took pity on him and tried to help him up, but he just yanked himself out of reach, almost falling over again.

“This place is a dive anyway,” he huffed, staggering out of the doors. The cold rain did little to help him sober up, and he felt tears sting his eyes. He didn’t want any of this to be real, he just wanted his little brother back. Or at least wanted him to say that he hadn’t meant any of the insults he’d hurled at Dean earlier.

It wasn’t like he could just call Sam or go after him. Sam had said he never wanted to see either of them again. So Dean would let him go, let his brother live the life he wanted, even if it was tearing him up inside.

“Are you okay?”

He looked up to see a dark haired guy frowning down at him. Wait, down? Somewhere in his grief, Dean had managed to sprawl out on the sidewalk, face pressed into the concrete, with choked sobs falling from his lips.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, sitting up and swiping at his wet cheeks, hoping it was just from the rain and not because he was crying. “I don’t need your sympathy.”

The man knelt down and helped Dean up anyway, his grip curiously strong as he avoided Dean’s attempts at shrugging him off. “Nor am I offering it. I am, however, offering to give you a ride somewhere, if you need it. Or I can call you a cab.”

“Don’t want to go home,” Dean slurred, swiping at his cheeks again. “I just want my brother. But he’s gone now. Said he hated me, and took his things and left. Gone to college.”

The dark haired man’s lips parted in understanding and he wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist firmly. “Come on. There’s a café down the road that’s open all night. We’ll get you some coffee and you can talk to me about your brother.”

Dean wanted to object, to walk away, but he didn’t have the strength to struggle out of this man’s iron grasp. It was raining heavily now, and he was cold in just his leather jacket. Coffee was warm and a good idea. If John came in and found him hungover in the morning, there would be hell to pay. So Dean just nodded dumbly and allowed the guy with the bright blue eyes to guide him down the street.

A flash of lightning burst through the sky and Dean glanced at the floor, blinking as he saw their shadows, and what looked like huge wings coming from the guy holding him up. What the fuck?

“Woah. I am way more drunk than I thought.” Dean slurred, stepping into the café and dropping into a seat.

“A coffee please. Black. Strong as you can make it,” the guy ordered, settling down at same table opposite Dean, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “So, you said your brother left?”

The thought of Sam made Dean’s gut twist violently and his face crumpled. He recovered quickly, refusing to cry when he could no longer blame his wet cheeks on the weather. “I don’t even want to talk about it,” he croaked, but continued regardless. “He just left. Said he hated me. And lots of other things. What kind of way is that to say goodbye to your brother? I’ve sacrificed so much for him…”

The stranger nodded slowly as he listened to everything Dean was saying. The fact that he was willing to listen and was being so kind had Dean pouring his heart out. He forgot about the fact that he was wasted, he forgot that he didn’t even know this guy. He just saw the friendly face and reassuring smile and trusted him implicitly.

He talked for hours, about anything and everything that he could think of about his life. Sometimes he got angry, sometimes he cried, sometimes he told fond stories of the times they got to be children. Dean didn’t notice that whenever he got too loud about his life of hunting, that the man opposite him would discreetly wave his hand and anyone that had overheard, instantly turned away.

It wasn’t until he realised that it was almost dawn that Dean stopped talking. “I’m sorry,” he croaked out. “I’m sure you have something better to do than sit here all night and listen to me talk about crap. I feel awful about all this, but I really have to go.”

The dark haired man rose and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Not all, Dean. I should be going too, I’m expected somewhere else. I think you should go home, carry on with your life as you always have. I have faith that you and Sam will mend your relationship in the future. Take care of yourself.”

“I don’t even know your name,” Dean said weakly. He wished he could reply this guy for his kindness, because Dean felt unburdened in a way he hadn’t for a long time.

Pausing, the dark haired man turned a kindly smile towards Dean, laced with humour. As if there was something funny, a joke that Dean hadn’t gotten.

“You will, one day.” He walked past Dean with a smile and a pat to his shoulder.

Bemused, Dean turned around to thank him, but the guy was gone. He could have sworn the café door had never opened, but the blue eyed man was nowhere in sight. Sighing, Dean shrugged his jacket back on and left the café, feeling a lot better than he had in a long time. Sam was gone, but somehow Dean trusted the blue eyed man’s judgment that one day, he’d find his brother again.

**Author's Note:**

> [MY TUMBLR](http://blueeyedangel.co.vu)


End file.
